


Wager

by Jael



Series: Rebuilding Bridges [4]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, F/M, Morning After, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: Sara and Leonard definitely have some issues to work out since his return, but it's been an adjustment for the entire Legends team. And they, of course, deal with that in their own unique way. (Set during and not long after "Me vs. You.")





	Wager

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I love this 'verse. Here's another one! Please note that it's set partly during the, err, events of "Me vs. You" and partly afterward. Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.  
> Still with my own weird take on who Charlie might be (I want Mick to befriend a dragon, OK?) and the Constantine & Gideon 'ship no one asked for! (Hellship? Magicship?)

“Aw, come on, luv.” John Constantine leans back against the table in the rec room and looks beseechingly up at the ceiling. At least, Mick thinks he’s trying to look beseeching. If anything, that sort of expression came less easily to the warlock’s face than to Mick’s own. And that was saying something.

“Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Constantine, apparently forgetting who he’s talking to, absentmindedly sticks his unlit cigarette back in his mouth. “To settle the bet. That’s pretty innocent, right?”

Mick, who’s sprawled on one of the room’s sofas, snorts. He can nearly hear Gideon’s sigh. For an AI, she’s got more personality than a lot of the people he’s known. Of course, after more than three years, he’s known her longer than he’s bothered knowing a lot of people. Er, more normal-like people.

“Mr. Constantine,” Gideon says almost primly. “As I have told you before, that is, quite frankly, none of your business.”

That’s about the fifth time she’s told the warlock that. Mick snorts again. Constantine glances his way and flashes a quick grin around his cigarette. Zari, perched on one of the stools at the table, just shakes her head. Nate mutters something, and Ray gives him a look.

Charlie has long since wandered away, uninterested in human drama—or, Mick thinks to himself, more uncomfortable with it. He gets it. He often feels the same, after all, the motives and reactions and feelings of so-called normal people a mystery.

Well. They’re none of them particularly normal, here, if normal is even a thing that really exists. (He’s pretty sure, these days, that it isn’t.)

Still, the human drama here is between two of the people he lov....he likes most in the world. Two people he wants to be happy...and to stick around. Blondie, he’s pretty sure, isn’t going anywhere; this is her ship now and she’s captain more than assassin, even if she’s still just as badass as ever.

Snart...well.

“I can’t believe this,” Nate mutters to himself, getting up from his own seat. “It’s more likely she pushed him out an airlock. Haven’t you _heard_ them since Snart come back on board? I don’t think they’ve exchanged two words without fighting.”

Mick frowns. Pretty’s having a hard time dealing with Snart’s presence on the Waverider, and he supposes he can sorta understand, even though he’s still ridiculously pleased about it himself.

“He’s not the one you saw,” he tells Nate tersely. “As part of the Legion.” He really hates these moments when loyalties old and new clash. For that reason alone, he hopes Constantine wins his wager. Could solve a lot of problems.

Or create new ones. But right now, he’d be OK with new ones.

The historian paces to the other side of the room, then turns, starting back at him.

“Isn’t he?” Pretty demands. “Isn’t he the exact same person? Just from a few years later in the timeline? What makes you really think he’s changed that much?”

“Other than the fact he’s been working with us for a month?” Zari asks, even as Ray stands up, too, distress on his face. Mick’s just trying to not to show that the words hurt, taking a pull of his beer as he tries to figure out what, if anything, he wants to say.

He should have left with Charlie.

“Snart was...is a hero,” Haircut speaks up staunchly to Pretty. “I told you what happened. He sacrificed himself—or he thought he was going to, anyway—to free time. And even before that, he saved our lives lots of times. Russia...Salvation...”

“Could say the same about me,” Mick cuts in, once he decides what he wants to say, before anyone else can distract him. He looks right at Nate. “How d’you know I’ve changed? I was...I was a lot worse than Snart, really. Once.” He shrugs uncomfortably. He is, now that he thinks about it, pretty sure Nate has no idea about Chronos. But even before the bounty hunter, he’d been…he’d done a lot of bad things. It’d been Snart who kept him in line.

Nate’s angry look fades, a little. For a moment, he looks pretty uncomfortable, too.

“You...you’ve proven it,” he says. “Lots of times.”

“So did Snart. You just weren’t there t’see most of it.”

“Will you all shut _up_?” Constantine asks, turning to survey the room with a world-weary eyeroll. He glares around indiscriminately, then takes his cig out of his mouth and looks back up.

“Gideon, luv,” he explains again. “All I want to know if they’ve snogged yet.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth. That thing must be disgusting by now. “Or shagged.”

Nate snorts now. “Sara’s got better taste than that,” he says with disgust. “He’s like, 20 years older than her…”

“Good bit less than that, Pretty.”

“And she gained two years in Nanda Parbat, and he lost three in the timestream…”

Zari laughs like she can’t quite hold the humor back. “You...” she says, pointing at Nate, “...have got some _weird_ ideas of good taste.”

Haircut gives her a rather wide-eyed look. “You think Snart’s good looking?” he asks, a bit plaintively. “I mean, I guess he sort of is. If you like that bad-boy type...”

Zari looks thoughtful. “Mm. Those eyes...” she muses. “He’s not my type. But he does have pretty eyes.”

Pretty snorts again. Mick shakes his head. Constantine smirks.

* * *

After they’d all beat their hasty retreat from the confrontation on the bridge, collecting down in the rec room without even discussing it, no one had wanted to talk about the elephant in the room at first. Ray had tried to start “Star Wars: Episode I,” nearly gotten booed out of the room, and conceded to skip ahead to Episode IV. (“Time for the prequels later, when we have some booze in us,” Mick had advised him.)

But eventually—maybe it was the Han and Leia banter, maybe it was the fact that the divide of sorts in their team…in their family…was on all their minds—talk turned back to Sara, and Snart, and how things were before (via the two remaining who remembered) and how things were now.

It had been Constantine (of course, Mick thought) who said it.

“One good bottle of whiskey that the two of ‘em are snogging it out right now,” he’d said, feet on the low table in front of one of the sofas, hands folded behind his head, eyes on the TV. “Or better yet, shagging it out.”

Nate sprayed a mouthful of rum and coke over the carpet. “What?”

Constantine had given him a lazy glance. “Seriously, mate? Those sparks? Really? You think you don’t get that kinda…” He waggled a hand. “…back an’ forth…without sexual tension? In spades?”

Haircut had stared at him…and then started nodding. “Ooooh. Ooooh, damn. All those times they were ‘playing cards’…”

“They were playing cards,” Mick cut in. “Not like they weren’t headin’ toward…somethin’…but they weren’t there yet.”

Hell, if Snart was gonna fall for anyone, he’d be happy if it was Blondie. But Mick also knew too much to ever think it’d be easy.

Not that he’d tell Haircut or the rest of ‘em that.

Charlie, who’d been raptly taking in the adventures of Luke & Co., had frowned, turning around in her seat.

“They were going to mate?” she asked Zari, who choked on her iced tea. “Would there not have been hatch…” She thought a moment. “…babies?”

It was hard to hold back a laugh, but Mick did it. He knew that Charlie hated feeling like a fool for questions that seemed perfectly reasonable to her. He’d been there.

Zari (after darting a look at Mick that said _someone_ was going to pay for making her explain the human facts of life to the shapeshifter) started a low-voiced conversation that had Charlie staring at her in amazement.

Haircut, who apparently figured he didn’t want to touch that one with a 10-foot pole, decided to act like he hadn’t heard. (As did Nate, Constantine, and Mick.)

“Ooooh,” he said sadly. “And then Snart died. Um. ‘Died.’” He made air quotes. “And even though he’s back, that’s a lot to unpack.”

Constantine groaned. “It’s not _that_ complicated!”

But it was.

Constantine had stood by his assertion—and his wager: the others could acquire him some quality whiskey if he was correct. Nate had declared that the far greater odds were on Sara kicking the thief off the team—and probably off the ship, possibly while it was still in the timestream. The rest of them (barring Charlie, who took this all in with an expression of great dubiousness) were somewhere in the middle.

Mick, personally, wasn’t sure if Sara, even now, or Snart were...what was the phrase he’d heard Leo use once? emotionally healthy...enough to mend their fences that fast. But then, he supposed that wasn’t really a requirement for what Constantine was talking about. Frankly, he figured, it’d probably do them good to bang and then talk it out.

Which meant it probably wouldn’t happen.

“Sara won’t just kick ‘im off the team,” he said finally. “Not after…everything. An’ Snart’s prob’ly too stubborn to jus’ leave.” He hoped. “Best case, they manage to talk long enough to work some of their shit out. They do that…” He shrugged, then took another drink. “…maybe they hook up. Do ‘em both good.”

Constantine pointed at him. “Need something more concrete for a wager, mate.”

Damned Brit did like his wagers. Mick considered. “Going to say they did talk,” he said finally. Optimism doesn’t come easily to him, far from it, but hell, he’s got Snart back after three years of his partner being dead. Who knows what’s possible.  “Things get back to norm….to what they were, once, w’them…I give ‘em a month before they fall into bed with each other.”

Zari cast him an interested look. “What _were_ they?” she asked. “This is the first I’m really hearing of this.”

Mick thought about it a moment. “Friends,” he said eventually. “An’ it’s not like Snart ever had many of those, so that’s sayin’ somethin’ in itself.” He took a drink. “Don’ think I’ve ever seen ‘im take to someone like that before. Not in a long, long time, anyway.”

Anyway, Haircut had agreed that if Sara and Snart would just talk, the odds of something happening were high. Pressed for specifics, he’d decided on three weeks for his deadline. Zari decided to put her wager on five weeks before something—whether shagging, snogging or kicking off the ship—happened.  (And cupcakes rather than whiskey if she won.)

Charlie, vaguely horrified and slightly intrigued by human mating habits, had already beat a hasty retreat. Mick didn’t blame her.

* * *

Now, however, having watched their way through the entire original trilogy and enough of Episode One to get a buzz on (for some of them, anyway), the others have all wandered off too. Constantine had actually fallen asleep on the sofa, head leaning against the back, snoring, but then woke with a snort, shaken his head and climbed to his feet, winked at Mick, and headed out, presumably to the room he was using as his own. Mick trusted Gideon to let someone know if the warlock decided to try to…interfere with…Sara and Snart.

Even Constantine couldn’t be that stupid.

Mick relishes the relative silence for a few moments, watching the duel of Obi Wan and Qui-Gon and Darth Maul on screen, then turns off the TV.

He sits for a moment, then raises his voice.

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Mr. Rory?” The AI sounds serene. She and Mick get along pretty well these days.

“Jus’…jus’ let me know if I need to referee or get anyone to the medbay, OK? Otherwise, better if they just have it out.” He takes one last drink. “One way or another.”

“Of course, Mr. Rory.”

* * *

One of the nice things about being in the timestream is that they generally get to sleep in. Mick, who is not a morning person at the best of times, appreciates that. Yawning the next “morning,” by ship’s time, he saunters down the hallway, barely sparing a moment for the varied considerations of the night before. That’s how he keeps going. You keep moving forward.

Then he turns into the galley.

He knows the minute he claps eyes on them.

Snart’s across the counter from Blondie, but he’s leaning toward her, nearly draped over the surface, hands clasped in front of him and his eyes fixed on the captain. Sara’s on the other side, but she’s watching him in return, and there’s the tiniest of smiles hovering around her lips.

Mick’s never been the best at feelings. Far, far from it. But he’s known Snart for more than 30 years, and he knows what a Leonard Snart who’s gotten laid looks like. (Although given how picky Snart is, it’s been a lot less often than it could have been.)

Bingo.

He’s never been happier to lose a bet.

They both look at him as he pauses in the doorway, and Mick knows immediately that they know he knows. They’re…OK, fuck, he’ll think it, the two people he loves most in this world. How does he handle this?

By pretending nothing’s changed, he figures.

So, after pausing for just a moment, Mick simply grunts, moving into the galley and over toward the replicator. Once he has his coffee, he eyes Sara and Snart a moment, taking a drink.

They’re now wearing almost identical smirks. Mick’s not sure whether to be appalled or amused. Both, he decides. The Brit is going to be insufferable.

Unless…

He regards them; they regard him. Then Mick grunts again.

“British is gonna be really annoying,” he advises. “So…maybe tone it down a bit?”

Sara chuckles, taking a drink of her own coffee. Snart lifts an eyebrow.

“Why, Mick,” he drawls. “To what are you referring?”

And then he actually laughs as Mick gives him a weary look in return

Mick can’t remember the last time he heard Snart laugh. It’s a good sound. But he merely rolls his eyes, watching them.

Snart tilts his head and looks at Sara, who does much the same in response. Whatever they decide in that moment of wordless communion, the captain nods, looking at Mick.

“Nothing’s changed,” she says firmly, taking another drink of coffee.

Mick gives her a look of disbelief. Snart’s smirk grows a little. Sara, catching the expressions, smirks a little too, but then sighs.

“Really,” she says, leaning against the counter. “It’s not…we’re not…” But then she looks at Snart again, and oh damn, they’re back to the eye sex.

The moment stretches, just enough to have Mick wondering if he should leave, but then Sara seems to catch herself, shaking her head. She smiles a little, then looks at him.

“OK,” she says. “So maybe _some_ things have changed. But some of it’s just between us…” She waves a hand between herself and Snart. “…for now. Anything to do with the team…well, we all have to sort out that dynamic.” Her smile grows. “I think it’ll be for the better.”

Well, then. “Damn right,” Mick says softly. Then he holds up his coffee mug, in a sort of wordless toast.

After a moment, Snart and Sara hold up theirs, too, clinking them together before they drink.

And Mick hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

So, of course, that’s when Constantine has to appear in the doorway.

He’s rumpled, as always, though he’s not, for once, wearing his coat. Given that he hates mornings with a passion that surpasses even Mick’s, it’s a little surprising that he’s up and moving. But Constantine’s eyes brighten as he takes in the three of them standing there…and, OK, this should be interesting.

“Ah,” he says happily, strolling into the galley. “So, did you two shag or what?” He claps his hands together and leans against the counter. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

Snart gives him a withering look. Sara lifts an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” she says mildly.

“You heard me, luv.” The warlock is unrepentant. “I have a wager on this. Tell.”

Sara considers him. Then she shrugs.

“Nothing to tell,” she says, turning away to rinse out her coffee mug. “Now, where were we going next? You said something about werewolves in Victorian London?”

Constantine gives her a disapproving look. Then he transfers his gaze to Snart.

“What about you, handsome?” he asks, leaning toward the other man. “You the type to snog an’ tell?”

Snart considers him, too. Then he shrugs as well.

“Like the lady said,” he drawls. “Nothin’ to tell.”

Constantine actually pouts. Mick keeps his own face empty as the warlock glances at him and then sighs.

“All right, all right,” he says. “But the truth will out.” The pout fades into a bit of a good-natured leer. “So, you both like blonds, eh? Good to know.”

Sara shakes her head at him; Leonard ignores him. The captain gives Mick another quick smile and then steps around the counter, heading for the door.

“John, let me know when you’ve got this particularly juvenile line of inquiry out of your system,” she tosses over her shoulder. “So I can set a course. Mick, Len, I’ll see you later.” And then she’s gone, out into the corridor.

“Len?” Both of Constantine’s eyebrows are up. “Well now, mate, that’s new.”

Snart finishes his own coffee and rises with alacrity to retreat. Mick can’t really blame him.

“Not particularly,” he drawls. “Mick, if you still want me to make the same tweaks to your gun that I made to my new one, I’ll drop by the fabrication room in about an hour.”

Mick nods. Snart casts him another lurking smile, then saunters out. He doesn’t head in the same direction as Blondie, though, which is probably good, because Constantine is watching avidly. (Although maybe he’s just admiring Snart’s ass; Mick can’t quite tell.)

After a moment of silence, the warlock sighs, turning his gaze on Mick, who’s still silently drinking his coffee.

“I _will_ find out,” he promises, then glances upward. “Gideon?”

“Mr. Constantine?” The AI’s voice is wary. Mick can’t blame her.

“This could be so simple, luv. Just tell me? I’m sure I can find some way to make it worth your while.”

If Mick didn’t know better (and maybe he doesn’t, to be honest), he’d swear Constantine was trying to flirt with the AI. Gideon’s pause is longer than usual, and who knows? Maybe it’s working? Mick waits.

Finally, she speaks. “Mr. Constantine, I believe the correct response, in your own vernacular…”

Constantine grins, leaning forward, winking at Mick and listening avidly.

“…is ‘sod off.’”

Mick can’t resist laughing out loud at the look on the warlock’s face. This is, he thinks, going to be interesting.

And he’s just fine with that.


End file.
